


The Forest

by Herperlo_D



Series: A Wandering Soul [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Beacon Hills, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Vengeful Stiles, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 01:06:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7246039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herperlo_D/pseuds/Herperlo_D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Stiles found Peter, bound in chains infused with wolfsbane.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>People who hurt Peter find themselves with a very short life expectancy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Forest

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings below. Please read them before proceeding.
> 
> Normal disclaimers. Un-betaed.

Stiles found Peter, half-unconscious, half-dead, bound in chains infused with wolfsbane.

He ran to the werewolf, ignoring the congealing blood that soaked his jeans and withdrew a small knife from his pocket, slicing through the thick chains like they were made of butter. They slithered onto the floor with a whisper of clinks, metallic, like blood drops forming a puddle. Whatever flesh that came into contact with them sizzled like meat on a hot stove, turning bright red near instantly and blistering angrily. Stiles pulled Peter onto his lap, turning him onto his back and placed a palm onto his carved open chest. He ignored the fact that he was touching Peter's weakly fluttering lungs.

Alive. That's good. But barely.

Stiles called for the power from his core, and it surged to his finger tips, waiting and eager to be used as he bid. The magic was strong, just like its vessel. The exposed flesh and muscles correctly fused back into place as he carefully directed his magic through the slips of his cuts. Blood rushed through repaired vessels anew, the heart beat stronger, the lungs coaxed to expand.

Fresh oxygen.

Safe. Peter was safe.

Satisfied with his patch work, Stiles carefully gathered Peter into his arms and slid to his feet. He carried the man like he weighed nothing more than a feather, his gait smooth as the surface of polished steel as he brought Peter to his jeep and laid him gingerly across the back seat. He stood for a second, watching the hitches in his breath, smoothing a hand down his cheek to the side of his neck- scenting him. The scent of the witches on his wolf's skin made his blood boil higher than it already was. His violent rage was waiting quietly within the confines of his chest, ready to be released like a great cat waiting to pounce on its prey. He drove them home and transferred Peter onto their soft couch, making sure that he was not jostled and still deep in healing sleep, his body working overtime to push him into full recovery.

Then, with one last kiss to the lips, Stiles left.

Intensive healing can wait until later. He had work to do.

 

_________

 

The witches were dying.

The witches were dying in the forest.

The cries and shrieks echoed the space between the trees of the Forest, swallows by the distance- silenced, unheard.

This was Beacon Hills. Beacon Hills was theirs, just as they were Beacon Hills'.

The witches were not.

 

________

 

They tried.

Oh, they tried so very hard. They casted spell after spell- crooning the words softly into the air, screaming them into the sky. Useless.

They pumped all of their power and will into every syllable, but it was futile.

The harmful magic writhed in the air, like a serpent on its last breath, invading and desperate. It wiggled through the chinks of the vulnerable human mind like a poison seeping through the cracks.

The black spread like the plague, capable of devouring the psyche in less than a second.

Their last resort.

 

It didn't work.

After all, no one can break the mind of a person who doesn’t have any left to destroy.

 

________

 

There was fire in his eyes.

It wasn’t a fire of passion. No, it was one of rage and agony- the coldest and brightest hellfire from the deepest depths of the Underworld.

No amount of reasoning or rationalising could contend with it.

It burned all in its path- all for what it wants.

_Peterpeterpeter._

_You all hurt my Peterpeterpeter._

_My Mate._ My mate. _Mineminemine._

_For him, I desire your pain._

_For him, I desire your life._

_And I will take it._

It was unstoppable and utterly terrifying. 

 

No one stood a chance.

 

_________

 

Stiles walked away from the Bloodbath, clothes soaked with the blood of the cursed and shoes squelching with the life of the damned.

He whistled a merry tune, magic sparking between his long fingers, crackling in the air.

The forest laid silent around him- a predator was walking in their midst.

It was quiet, save for Stile's wet footsteps... and the rustling of leaves in the distance.

Come morning, the forest would be as calm as ever and clear of evidence of the gruesome scene as though it had never happened.

 

_________

 

This was Beacon Hills. Beacon Hills was theirs, just as they were Beacon Hills'.

Those who do not oblige would be  _erased_.

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Brief descriptions of gore and heavily implied murder.
> 
> Come join me on my [tumblr](http://herperlo-d.tumblr.com) account!


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